


A Fallen Friend

by InkFire_Scribe



Category: The Iliad - Homer, Zombies Run!
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Revenge, War, wrath - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25693018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkFire_Scribe/pseuds/InkFire_Scribe
Summary: Sing, O goddess, of the wrath Sara Achilles, daughter of Peleus, that brought countless troubles upon the Greeks. Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs and vultures, for so were the prophecies of Jove fulfilled from the day on which the son of Atreus, Van Ark, and great Sara Achilles, first knew that one of them would have to die.Inspired by and written for @iamrunner5 on Tumblr.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 5





	1. The Price

**Author's Note:**

  * For [muddy_puddles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muddy_puddles/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Death of Five](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/660757) by iamrunner5. 



"You can't just-"

"I _can_ just," snarled Sara, gripping her plumed helm so tightly between both hands that it seemed like it might dent at any moment. She was a mighty warrior, and the daughter of a goddess if rumor was to be believed. This was not the sort of mood Five wanted to see the commander in, even if they were friends. Blood-brothers, according to some of the men under their command. More than that, according to others. What they were to each other wasn't their business, though. For now, what _was_ their business were the Trojan bearing down on them like angry boar from the city. "Leave me be, Five. If they want to fight this war their way, they can fight it without me!"

"Those are our friends out there!" Five took a step forward, knowing that this was a risk no one else would take. No one was able to face down the mighty Sara Achilles, champion of the Greeks. "Those are our men being wounded and slain while we sit in here and hide in camp. And we won't even be able to stay here much longer - the Trojans are coming. They're nearly here. Can you hear them? Can you see them beyond the fire? They're coming, and only you can stop them." 

Five's words rang between them, thick with fear and anger and a dozen other feelings that couldn't be named. They had been on these shores, in this camp, for almost a decade. Away from their homes, away from their families, fighting to retrieve the wife of a man who was too proud to admit he might not have been the best fit for her anyway. This wasn't a matter of honor anymore. This was a matter of stubbornness and the sort of pride that only ever cost men in time and blood and lives. 

Miraculously, the anger slowly faded from Sara's eyes, and after a moment she sighed, setting the plumed helmet back on the stand with a sort of heavy finality that Five could feel like sound of a war drum shivering along the bones of a dead man. It was a cold feeling, a prescience of terrible things to come. 

"I can't yield to him, Five. I can't. You know I can't. It's not just about the girl anymore. It's... a matter of honor." And there it was. Her honor. Sara's voice was quiet, her words full of something like regret, but underpinned with the unyielding chill of bronze, as strong and sharp as the sword at her hip. "You know I can't make an exception for this. Not now. Not ever. Not for him." 

Five knew what she meant. Van Ark, in his eagerness to wage war, was more animal than man. And killing his own daughter to inspire favorable winds? No. There was nothing on the gods' green earth that would provoke Five to yield to that monster, short of Sara's dying wish. 

"Those are still our friends. We have to help them. If you won't... let me take your armor. I'll pretend I'm you, and you can keep your word in staying clear of him until he begs. Please, Sara. I can't listen to them dying out there and do nothing." 

Another pause, the silence filled with the sound of clashing swords, crunching shields, shouts of pain and anger and warning. Then Sara's eyes hardened, scar on her left cheek turning a silvery white as her whole face tensed against the plea in Five's tone. 

"No. Neither I nor my armor will be seen on the field until that... that _ass_ has given me my due." And that was the end of the conversation. Sara stomped to her bunk and threw herself down with a snort of finality. Nothing more would be said on the matter, and Five knew it. 

But Five also knew that more men, more of their _friends_ would die if nothing changed. 

Something had to change.

Waiting until Sara had rolled stubbornly onto her side, Five took the armor quietly down from the stand and strapped it on, last of all sliding the helmet on. The nose guard concealed a lot of the wearer's face, and from a distance all anyone would see was the bright blue plume anyway. It would be enough. As a last touch, Five yanked on the arm band that would identify the warrior in the armor as Achilles, leader of the Eighth Achaean Infantry. 

And then it was time. Out of the tent, into the open, out into the battle that was only twenty meters from the camp. The farthest tents were already being set ablaze by flaming arrows. As the armor passed the men in the camp, eyeing the battle warily or fleeing for the ships, there went up a cry all around. 

"Achilles! It's Achilles! Sara Achilles!" Men were already flocking to the plume, and Five grinned. It was time for something to change in a big way. 

Five led the charge once, twice, thrice, driving the Trojans back toward their gates. With a war cry Sara herself would have been proud of, Five led the warriors again, sprinting at the Trojan's retreating line, seeing their rear guard turn and stand with spears braced, fear wild in their eyes. And there - there! Still fleeing toward the city, a chariot pulled by a magnificent roan stallion, the harness and wheels leafed in silver. 

Simon Hector. 

Simon was to the Trojans as Sara was to the Greeks. If Simon fell, the Trojan army would be broken. Five had a stone in the sling and whirled it overhead, faster and faster, blowing the blue plume and shouting as loudly as any warrior could. 

"Hector! Come and face me like a real warrior!" 

And as Simon turned, pale with fear and jaw set in determination, Five loosed the stone. It whistled like a diving hawk as it sped across the space between them, arcing toward Simon's helmet. But no! The charioteer straightened at exactly the wrong moment and the stone smashed into the side of her helm. The horse screamed and swerved violently, throwing Simon from the vehicle. 

Five lost him in the scuffle, but there were bigger things to worry about. Someone had given the order to withdraw, and Five was in among the rear guard now, giving the Trojans time to reach the gates and the Greeks time to reach their camp. The engagement was all but over. No more men need die. 

But Simon still lived. Simon was the one that could end this all, even if the girl wasn't returned immediately. Without their army, without their champion, the Trojans would be helpless. This was a chance - maybe the only chance - to end everything for good and all. 

Breaking ranks, Five rushed forward, sword drawn, bronze blade shining in the setting sun. This would be it. Sara would be proud. The war could finally end. 

A heavy blow sent Five reeling. It felt something like a battering ram had slammed into the warrior's chest, and the fastenings on the breastplate came loose, leaving it hanging from one shoulder. Winded, confused, and a touch frightened, Five looked around for the source of the attack, and spotted a glowing figure wreathed in flame. Apollo the Sun God, a bow in hand, a smirk on his face. Five stared, uncomprehending, and didn't hear the footsteps of the true danger until... pain. 

Pain above pain beyond pain. 

The bronze sword fell from nerveless fingers. Breathing was hard. Five coughed. Something wet spattered chapped lips as trembling hands came up reflexively, weakly gripping the bloody spear-point that had sprouted like a weird red plant from a body that already began to shake. 

A rough hand pulled the plumed helmet from Five's head, and the warrior reeled. Simon's face slid in and out of focus. 

"You're not Achilles," he snarled, then... yes. He recognized the face of his old friend. A look first of confusion, then terror lit his eyes. "No! No, Five, you're not... you're not supposed to be here. You were supposed to be Achilles. You were supposed to be Sara Achilles. I wouldn't-" 

But it was too late. 

Life spilled to the muddy earth, red and hot and wet like the water that had so long nurtured life. Five was giving back to the earth what the earth had given on the day of birth. Life fled the warrior's body, and suddenly it seemed so small and cold. The fierce warrior was a dying child in the arms of a friend whose death would have been an acceptable price for peace. It had been for peace. 

But... this was what happened when war pitted friend against friend.


	2. An Oath of the Broken

"Achilles! Achilles has fallen!"

The cry came from so far away it was almost indistinct, but Sara's ears were tuned to the sound of her own name. Sitting up, she looked around, wondering if someone were pulling a prank on her. But no, there was no sound of battle near at hand, nor was there anyone in the tent to watch her reaction. 

But even as she puzzled over what could have happened and why people were shouting about how she was apparently dead, she spotted the armor rack. It was empty. It was... very, very empty. Dread started to settle in her stomach. Sara lurched up off the bunk in time to hear the shouting grow closer and also to change, tones of fear turning to those of despair and rage. 

"Pentas Patroclus has fallen! He's killed Five! He's killed Five!"

The warrior had always considered it pure fancy when a poet described fear as the blood turning to ice in the veins, but she felt just as if a chill were creeping outward from her heart, numbing her limbs, freezing over the very thoughts in her mind. 

Five. Her Five?

Gone?

It couldn't be. 

Bursting from her tent, scanning the field wildly, Sara shouldered her way past two startled guards in nothing but her tunic and leggings, drawing her sword and tossing the scabbard aside. There. Less than a kilometer from the gates, barely a pale smudge against the blood-soaked earth. There was a man holding a blue plumed helmet. _Her helmet_. 

She couldn't hold herself to a walk. She was jogging, then running, then sprinting, rage building in her gut, overflowing into her lungs, tearing from her throat in a scream of fury that shook the dust from the heavens. The man jumped and twisted on the spot. That broad-shouldered, lean-waisted figure could be none other than Simon Hector, and he was holding her helmet. He was standing over her friend. Five was sprawled in the dirt, still and pale and unmoving. 

The distance between them shrank rapidly. Fifty meters. Forty. Thirty. 

Simon broke for the gate, putting his head down and sprinting for all he was worth, still clutching her helm to his breast. Sara roared at him to stand, to fight like a man, to answer for Five's blood, but he didn't listen. He fled like the coward he was, and in mere moments, the gates had boomed shut, leaving Sara out on the battlefield with the dead and dying. 

There was only rage. Rage, burning like a forge in her chest, streaming from her eyes, glowing in her hands. Screaming so the gates quivered and the armies trembled, Sara Achilles swung her sword at nothing, slew the air, eviscerated the silence she would not tolerate. 

"I will hunt you down, Hector," she howled, her voice cracking with the force of her oath. "I will find you and I will feed your heart to the eagles! I will make you into fish food! I will sacrifice you and all your family on the altar of Ares and there is nothing on this vial, forsaken earth that will stop me. Do you hear me, Hector? I WILL KILL YOU!!!" 

At last, her oath made, she finally let the silence overtake her. Like a storm it bore down on her, beating her into the ground, driving her back, back, until she stood beside the lifeless form of her best friend. Armor askew, helmet gone, weapon missing. A bloody totem to the god of war jutted from Five's stomach at a cruel angle, and Sara could only stare. 

No breath in the small body. 

No life in the wide eyes. 

No smile on the quick, friendly mouth. 

There was nothing of her friend here. Only death. Only vengeance. Only rage. 

Slowly, Sara knelt, her heart squeezed to bursting with feelings she could neither name nor contain. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks as she picked up the limp body that had once been dearest to her, and carried it slowly, swaying, blind to the world, back. Back the way they had come. Back to the warriors Five had wanted to save. Back to the family that would never be complete without Five. 

The body would be laid on the pyre, but it wouldn't be lit until she had fulfilled her oath. It wouldn't take long, Not if she had her way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot tell you how much I'm LOVING writing this. It's just So Dramatic!!!


	3. Not All Who Wander Are Lost

Clouds. That was the first thing that became clear. Five blinked. Something... wasn't right. Well, there were a lot of things that weren't right, but specifically there was a problem right now with Five's body. For one thing, it seemed to be completely numb and paralyzed. 

_You have a choice_. 

Something glowy and bright - no, some _one_ glowy and bright - moved into the warrior's field of vision. She... he? They were tall, silvery, and had the widest, brightest grey eyes Five had ever seen. 

_This is your choice, Pentas Patroclus. You can pass on to the afterlife in peace, or you can return to the world of the living in my service. Serving me will not be easy, and it will not always be pleasant. That is your warning. What is your choice?_

For a long second or two, nothing happened. Five's mind raced. A chance to return to the world of the living? A chance to go back and fix things? But... what would service to a god imply? What tasks would be required of one who accepted such a deal? 

The figure laughed. _I don't think you would understand the big picture, but the tasks I could need of you would be simple. Travel here, deliver an item there, give a message to someone at the right time. Nothing complex, though it will require you to obey without question._

Would there be a chance to fix what had gone wrong? To end the war?

_Yes. The war will end with or without you, but I will allow you time to make up the mistakes of this day._

Then yes. This was an agreement that Five couldn't pass up, especially when Simon was still out there and still alive. There was a chance to save him. There was a chance to apologize to Sara. 

_Very well. As long as you are mine, you will live. You will see and hear the gods in their many forms. But should you disobey me, your life will be forfeit. Do you understand?_

Yes. 

Feeling rushed back into a body that had seen too much abuse. Everything burned and ached and twitched all out of control until suddenly everything returned to normal. It felt like a nightmare. Five rolled over, fell off the wooden platform, and was immediately and violently sick all over the ground. 

Someone was shouting. It was impossible to focus on them, but Five discovered a funeral sheet and a complete lack of clothing that was... admittedly less disturbing than it might have been. Hands shaking, the warrior tugged the funeral sheet around until it draped like a sort of over-large toga and obscured the more private pieces of anatomy that other people didn't need to be looking at. 

"Where's Sara?" Ugh. The voice that came out of the warrior's mouth was so rough and croaky, it was almost unrecognizable. The guard that had been shouting looked at Five then, bow raised. Arrow nocked? As the guard pulled the string back, Five realized with growing panic that he was planning to attack. 

"Wait, wait! I'm not-" 

The arrow flew. "Die, undead scum," snarled the guard as the arrow punched through Five's chest and flooded one lung with blood. 

_Not again._

When Five could see and breathe again, it wasn't on the smooth wooden platform of what was obvious in retrospect as a funeral pyre. Rocks and jagged splinters dug into exposed flesh. Oh, great. Nudity again. 

With a groan, Five rolled over and tried to scan the immediate vicinity for threats. Nevermind that death wouldn't come until the gods' errands were done, that had been very, very painful and not something to be repeated if even remotely avoidable. The camp was nowhere in sight. Actually, Five was in a sandy pit with a bunch of other corpses. And some of the corpses were grey-tinged and groaning. 

At first, the warrior stared at these moving corpses, uncertain exactly what they were. Some lacked legs. Some had crushed arms. Others were missing their eyes. It was horrifying to look at, to the point where Five's mind refused to process the fact that crawling corpses were coming... nearer. They were coming nearer. 

Lacking the breath even to swear properly, Five lunged up and made a flying leap for the side of the pit. Something clawed at one dangling, bare ankle, but it couldn't hold on, and Five managed to crawl up onto level ground with a wheeze of relief. 

"Oi!" 

Crap. A guard with a black-plumed helmet - a woman who served under Van Ark - had spotted the newly-resurrected (re-resurrected?) Five, and was already nocking an arrow on the string of her bow. 

Crap crap crap crap. Lunging upright and nearly toppling back into the pit, Five turned to bolt away from the guard and away from the crawling corpses. The sea wind slapped at the warrior's nakedness, muscles burning as the newly-minted Olympic Sprinter made truly excellent time in getting away as fast as possible. 

It wasn't fast enough, though, and Five was still within the guard's shooting range when she loosed, shouting something that was lost to the wind and the pounding of bare feet on the sand. The arrow entered Five's back, a little below the left shoulder blade. Somehow, it was easy to tell the arrow had just missed the madly pumping heart, but the wound was still fatal. It only took a minute to bleed out, but it was enough to feel the blood spilling, the cold creeping, the wind laughing, and the goddess Athena sighing as she shook her head over the dying body of her messenger. Again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, there will be some sort of explanation for this twist in the next chapter! XD


	4. How Many Times?

How many times? 

That was the question on Five's mind when the world came into focus again. How many times would the pain come and fade and come again? How many times would death pay a visit, glance at the sun, and say "Oh, sorry about that. I really do have to go. Maybe next time?" Would Athena regret choosing such an inept messenger? 

That was the challenge, wasn't it? Not being inept. Five stared up at the sky, watching clouds roll across the smooth blue of the heavens' upturned bowl. Somewhere up there, the gods were shaking their heads over all this nonsense. 

_You really should try not to die so often,_ said a soft, but powerful female voice nearby. Five shifted slightly and there was Athena, silvery, glowy, and looking almost amused. Amused? She thought this was _funny?_ Of course she did. She was immortal. 

"I'm not doing it on purpose," Five croaked. That voice didn't even sound like a human voice anymore. Just words on the wind. How long had it been since food or water had passed these cracked and bleeding lips? 

_I know you're not. If you were, I would have let you die. I will lend you this cloak, just for a little while. It will ensure you're unseen as long as you wear it._

A soft, silky length of fabric fell across the warrior's naked body, and for a moment Five just enjoyed the voluptuous pleasure of the sensation of clean cloth against sore, dirty skin. 

_Now rise, Pentas. You are needed, and time runs short._

Of course it did. With a heavy sigh, Five staggered upright and wrapped the cloak about sunburned shoulders and pulled the hood up over matted hair. If this attempt at life didn't result in a bath, this was going to be... unpleasant. 

As promised, the cloak concealed Five from curious eyes, though it was startling to note one of the soldiers near the mess tent was glowing with a crimson aura. It took a minute to realize that the soldier was a god in disguise, and also very much not Five's problem. The warrior pressed on, padding barefoot through the camp until - yes. Achilles' pennant snapped in the sea breeze over an apparently empty tent, but Sara's cohort were huddled uncertainly around the fire, muttering to one another. 

"Dunno what he's planning," muttered one, poking the fire. It was a young soldier who'd lost a leg early in the war, but stayed around to keep the others fed and informed. "But whatever it is, I don't like it. We want to win the war, for sure, but is it right to win if the cursed and restless dead are left to suffer in our wake?" 

There was a general murmur of agreement before another soldier spoke, a woman with several scars across her tanned face. "It's not our position to question our officers. But I heard he's summoning the dead because Achilles won't fight. If our great leader had taken the sword when she was needed..." 

More grumbling agreement, but the one-legged warrior scowled. "What Agamemnon needs is to have his teeth rearranged by someone's boot. I'd say _my_ boot, but my kicking skill just isn't that great anymore. Between the two of them, I trust Achilles with my life, and I wouldn't trust Agamemnon with my horse's manure. If you don't trust Achilles, why do you follow her?" 

There was a beat of silence while the other soldiers looked uncomfortable, and Five quietly moved off. The one-legged soldier, Gene, was a good sort, but he sometimes made others feel less than virtuous, despite his handicap. Soldierly conduct was just... easy for some people. He was one of them. 

But if they were talking about Sara out in the open, it was because there was no risk of her overhearing. Where was she? It only took a minute to think of the only place Five would be if their positions had been swapped. At the pyre. 

At first, Five didn't see her. She ought to have been here - or somewhere nearby. Sara might have been ought on the battlefield, screaming challenged at the Trojan walls, but that idea was quickly discarded - not because it didn't seem likely, but rather because the thought of returning to the battlefield with nothing but a cloak and no way to stave off the restless dead wasn't in the least appealing. 

Then Five realized the problem. Sara didn't have her helmet anymore. The characteristic blue plume that identified Sara at a distance was missing, because Simon Hector had stolen it. Looking again, this time for the woman's dark auburn hair, Five spotted her, standing with head bowed next to the empty pyre, grieving. She looked so... empty, so defeated. Shoulders slumped, arms hanging loosely at her sides. The scabbard at her hip was empty, and without her weapon, the woman seemed incomplete. Just as Five would have been without her. 

A presence brushed past Five's shoulder, and the cloak was lifted away, but the warrior hardly cared at this point. Sara was hurting. Sara needed support and reassurance. 

"Sara." The name came out as a dry croak. Five moved forward, reaching for the woman, wanting to soothe the hurt, ease the grief. _It's okay,_ Five wanted to say. _I'm alive. Things will be alright._

Sara looked up, confused at first, and frustrated that her silent grief had been interrupted. Then her gaze landed on Five, and something leapt into her eyes. Hope and terror and fury, all at once. If the sword had been in its scabbard, Five would have seen and recognized the gesture. The Great Achilles reached for her sword, where it was stuck to half the length of its blade in the pyre. 

"Van Ark," she spat, as though the name were the dirtiest swear word she knew. Five halted as though struck. How could Sara mistake her best friend for that... that traitor? But Sara was still talking as she wrenched her sword free. "You steal my winnings, you smear mud on my honor, you raze my ships - and now this? Isn't it enough that you killed my heart? Now you bring it back to haunt me as one of your groaning, restless specters?"

The glittering blade was poised now, and Five could hardly breathe. "No, I'm not-" The protest fell on deaf ears. Sara would not - _could_ not - listen. 

"Die," she hissed, gripping the sword's hilt in both powerful hands. "Die, and let Five's spirit rest in peace." There were tears in her eyes as she drove the blade up and through Five's throat and jaw, driving the point deep into the warrior's skull in an instant of piercing agony and razor-edged betrayal. The pain lasted a second longer as heart and lungs tried to keep working, but the struggle was a futile one. Five's unseeing eyes stared at the glowing outline of a silver goddess who had warned that time was running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... isn't really an explanation. I thought Five would actually get to talk to some one in this chapter.   
> This is what happens when I don't actually plan things out ahead of time.
> 
> Ah, well.   
> The short version is that Van Ark got tired of waiting for Sara to apologize for having a sense of honor, so he raised the dead using dark and evil arts, and now everyone is unhappy. What dark and evil arts he used is really not as important as how many times Five will have to die before things sort themselves out.


	5. In Defense of Five

". . . was talking! Do you ever hear the restless dead talk?"

"I won't let Van Ark-"

"THIS ISN'T ABOUT VAN ARK!"

Someone was shouting. Two someones. Everything hurt, and Five could feel the fuzziness that said not everything was healed yet. Especially on the inside.

"I won't let my Five be used against me like that!" Sara seemed to be screaming at the top of her lungs, but whoever she was arguing with was, if possible, even louder. 

"Use your eyes, Achilles! Five isn't grey! Five isn't shambling and attacking people! FIVE ISN'T DEAD."

Five's eyes slowly opened. The sky was twilight dark, the first sprinkle of stars peeping through the misty darkness as sea fog began its evening stroll up the shore. Gene was being very forceful. 

That by itself wasn't enough to make things seem unreal, but the tone of Sara's voice was. It sounded a lot like she was crying, or needed to cry, or had been, or was about to. That wasn't the Sara that Five knew. Five knew the great warrior that sometimes got pouty, was usually frustrated, and loved to gloat. Five's Sara never cried. 

Then a slightly blurry face came into view above the warrior, the outline of a human face almost black against the twilight sky. 

"Are you alright, Five? Are you doing okay?" There was a sort of glow around Gene's eyes... was he touched by the gods? Five decided it didn't matter too much. Instead, the only reasonable answer was a nod. 

"Come on, then. Here, let's get you something to drink. You look parched." 

That was an understatement. As Five sat up, Gene dropped a heavy cloak to cover the warrior's nakedness, and turned to frown at Sara, who seemed to have frozen in place. She was still holding the blood-stained bronze sword, but she neither raised nor lowered the weapon as she stared at her best friend and only confidante. 

"Achilles, if you don't calm down, then I'm going to make you." 

That seemed to rouse her, and the warrior snorted derisively, straightening slightly and rolling her shoulders. "I'd like to see you try." 

"No you wouldn't," volunteered a third voice, less familiar than Gene's. It was another soldier - a mocha-skinned halfbreed from Ethiopia... or maybe Spain? It was never really clear where any of those folk were from. But there was a flash of white teeth in his dark face as he glanced at Five, a nervous expression in his dark eyes which seemed to catch and hold the orange firelight as it played across his features. "He's pretty good at it, and it sometimes means getting clubbed over the head or drugged into submission." 

Sara grunted, finally lowering her sword. "Kinky," she muttered, and the newcomer laughed. 

"He's spoken for. Get your own." This easy, casual tone wasn't one that people usually used with Sara. She frowned at him, but the soldier shrugged. "I'm his, he's mine. That's all there is to it. I like it that way."

Sara traded a look with Five that was as easy to read as ever.

 _Men_. 

Then she looked away again, and Five sighed. The distrust between them was hard to swallow. Not that anyone would blame Sara for it. With the restless dead about... 

With a start, Five looked around at Gene, eyes wide as the memory of being targeted by greying, decomposing corpses returned. Gene made a "calm down" gesture and passed over a cup of hot spiced wine. 

"I bet you're confused. You died on the field in front of the gates four days ago. A lot's happened since then. Achilles, would you care to explain?" 

Sara's knuckles whitened as she gripped her sword, but after a moment, she nodded. "Yeah, alright. After you... died... Van Ark decided he'd had enough of waiting around for me to solve his problems. First he burned all our ships to make sure we couldn't retreat. Then he released some sort of curse that made one of his own soldiers into this shambling corpse. It didn't feel pain or fear or caution. It just started attacking. He herded it with shields toward the city, and its been wandering around the battlefield since then. The more people it attacks, the more people turn grey and undead. It looks like it can only do that to living people, though. We saw it... well... it was eating people out there, but as long as they were dead to start with, it doesn't seem to affect them." Sara paused, looking at Five with a frown. "Which makes me wonder why you're here. I saw you die. I carried you back myself. You were cold. You went stiff. You were definitely dead. So why are you alive again?" 

Five wanted to explain. Wanted to tell her everything. But when the warrior tried to force the words out into the firelit night... nothing came. Five's throat was like a piece of dried kelp pinched by powerful claws. It was closed tight, and nothing was going to open it. After a second of wheezing softly, the warrior looked down, unsure where to be relieved or ashamed of this change. 

Could Athena's message be delivered without words? Was it dishonest to stay here when her mission had already failed? 

But the goddess didn't appear with the answers, and there was only silence. 

"I... don't understand." Sara looked at Gene, as if expecting the one-legged soldier to have answers. "Why can't Five talk?" 

"Couldn't be because the last time Five _tried_ to talk, you ended the conversation with a sword to the brain, could it?" Gene's dry tone was unforgiving, and Sara looked slightly uncomfortable with the implication. 

"Well... I'm not threatening anyone now," muttered Sara.

"Doesn't matter. If you did permanent damage, you can't undo it by saying you won't do it again." 

"Well... what do you want me to do?" 

"Sit down and drink your wine. We've got lookouts ready in case the undead come this way." 

"And after that?" 

Gene gave her a grin as he passed her the cup of steaming wine. "You're the commander, not me. What would you do, if you were in charge?"

Sara was quiet for a moment, then looked at Five, searching her friend's face for an answer to an unspoken question. 

"Burn Troy to the ground. And hopefully, Van Ark with it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got plans for two more chapters. Hopefully, I'll find the end in that time.
> 
> This was supposed to be a one-shot. It is not. I blame only myself.


	6. Delivering a Message

For a long minute, the two of them stared at one another. There were no words between them. There couldn't be. Five could still see the pain and anger that had buried a blade in a still-living brain (or living-again brain?) but at least for now, Sara's weapon remained sheathed. They looked at one another, and neither of them spoke. One, because speech wasn't achievable, and the other, because speech wasn't desirable. 

The others had slowly cleared out, once they were convinced that Five was neither undead nor in imminent danger of stabbing. The only problem with that was that it left the two of them alone. Well, alone with their baggage, anyway. The firelight cast harsh shadows on Sara's haggard face. Had she slept at all? Was there any rest left in this world for her? 

Five looked away, unable to bear the pain in Sara's face. Sara Achilles was many things; strong and brave and loyal and wonderful - but this was a side of Sara that even Five had never known, and did not want to know. There were too many things that had broken to cause this side of Sara to surface. None of that was what Five would have wanted. 

"Gene says it must have been a god that brought you back. Seven hells know that it couldn't have been Van Ark." She gave her friend a sharp look, as if searching for some kind of argument. She received none. It had not been Van Ark. It had been a god. Goddess, actually, but it didn't make any functional difference. 

"So why? Why were you sent back to me?" 

Another long pause as Five tried to force the words blocking a dry throat out into the night air. The words burned, trapped inside like hot coals. After a second, the warrior made a slight gesture, as though holding a pen. No one would have called Five "literate," but with enough letters to make a simple message understood, maybe this would be alright. 

Sara rummaged around a bit until a sand tray came to her hand, then a stylus. Smoothing the sand carefully, she set it down beside Five, who took the stylus clumsily between fingers better suited to a bowstring, and tried to form words. Words had never been a "strength," per say, but Five had never had trouble making things clear. Not before now. Nervously, the warrior pressed the marks into the damp sand, making them as neat as possible. The end result was crooked and blocky, but it worked. 

A MESAJ FOR VAN ARK AND U AND KING OF TROI

"A message?" Sara frowned at the sand tray, not sure what to think about that concept. There had been many possibilities in her mind when she had thought that maybe Five had been sent back for a purpose. But a message for the three of them was not one that had occurred to her. After all, Five had come to her, not to Van Ark. And definitely not for the king of Troy, that idiot Hector's father. Maybe the gods wanted to warn them that Sara would raze their city. That was fair. 

Five nodded, then wiped the sand smooth and started to write again. It was a painfully slow process, and Five needed to start again three times before the message came out all in one piece. 

WAR MUST END THE LOSERS MUST DIE THE UNDED MUST DIE AGEN

That wasn't exactly what Athena had whispered into a dead ear on the battlefield so many hours ago, but there was only so much an illiterate soldier could do, and it was close enough. Five was actually decently proud of those words. There were many things others could do better and this was one of them, but Five had gone the job Athena had wanted. Or part of it. 

* * *

"And you let the creature ESCAPE?!" The glasses, maps, and markers swept off the table as Van Ark upset the whole thing, throwing it all to the carpeted floor in a fit of anger. The guard standing near the tent entrance twitched, but she didn't retreat. She wasn't a tall woman, but she had clear, tanned skin, nut-brown hair, and a slight squint. If they were still at home in Greece, there was a chance that the squint might be mended with a charm or two, but here, in war, such things were forbidden. 

Forbidden by Van Ark, at least, and his word was law for those who Achilles didn't protect. 

Striving to keep her voice steady, Paula lifted her chin and answered in a quiet, firm tone. "It didn't move like any of the restless dead, but it had definitely been dead when it was thrown into the pit." 

"Why did you let it escape?" snarled the bearded man, stalking toward his guard with fire in his eyes. "You know as well as I do - better than I do - what these creatures are worth. Even one lost Walker means an unknown variable. What if the Trojans capture it and turn its curse against us?" 

Paula felt the dark magic that stained her hands as though it were ink on her skin, and closed her eyes for a moment, wishing fervently she'd never need to cast the spell again. Ever, ever again. It was a crime against the world of the dead, and if Death himself didn't come for her, it would be something worse. 

"I realize it's a danger, sir. I shot the creature as it fled and it fell. It didn't move again." 

"And... you hit its head?" 

"No, sir. My arrow struck between the shoulders." 

A cunning look crossed Van Ark's face, a wild light in his eyes. "Bring it to me." 

"I can't, sir. I returned to my post and stayed there until my relief came, but when I returned to the place where the body had been left, it was gone." 

Immediately, the fury returned to his face as though he were a creature gone mad. A hand flew out and struck Paula's face, knocking her helmet to the floor and very nearly sending her down with it. 

"You imbecile. You moron. You daughter of a lame pig! Do you have a brain in there, or has it turned to porridge living safe and sound in camp while the rest of us risk our lives? It's one of ours! You should have captured it and brought it back to me immediately!" And this was Van Ark in a nutshell, always shouting at people for what they should have done, but didn't. 

Paula slowly picked up her helmet, tucked it under her arm, and straightened, turning her steady, clear-eyed gaze on her commander. His hand was bleeding where he'd struck her, cutting himself on the cheek guard of her helmet. Already, the bleeding was sluggish as it clotted and started to heal. 

"You simple, foolish woman," sneered Van Ark, shaking the blood from his hand as if shooing away a fly. "Send me the Hunter. At once, if you please." His politeness was as hollow and sharp-edged, like a suit of armor with no one inside. Paula bowed, unable to tear her eyes away from his hand until she'd turned away. 

She should have left then and never returned. She ought to have gone to Troy and confessed all that had happened. She wouldn't have regretted turning traitor, if it wasn't for the task that still begged for resolution. If not for the loose ends. The unexplored things. The pages of this story still unread. As awful as those things were that she was forced to do, there were many more things she learned along the way that would help so many people. That... that was the part she couldn't turn away from. And as long as Van Ark was the one providing her with resources, how could she truly betray him? 

"Hunter," she called softly, and saw a figure move inside the small, patched tent. "Van Ark calls." The figure replied with an anatomically impossible suggestion about what Van Ark could do with his calling. Paula sighed. "You know he won't accept that answer, however much he deserves it. Will you go to him?" 

Pause. The glimmer of metal in the darkness. A soft growl. "I'll go. Get to your bed, Paula. She's waiting for you." 

Paula hesitated for just a moment. "Are you sure?" 

"She's always waiting for you." 

"No, I mean... about Van Ark. Wouldn't it be better if-?" But no. Her courage failed, the words trailed off into silence. Her cowardice kept her where she was, even when others might have helped her. 

The Hunter emerged from the tent into the faint moonlight, a feral smile dancing in dark eyes. "It will be better. But not tonight. Go to bed, Paula. Maxine is waiting." Janine, the Hunter, turned toward Van Ark's opulent tent, gripping a throwing axe so tightly her knuckles turned white. Biding her time had never been her strong suit. But for this... for this, it was worth it.


	7. An Unexpected Request

"You called, sir?" The Hunter stood just outside the radius of Van Ark's temper tantrum, scattered papers and extinguished candles at her feet. She looked utterly unimpressed, like the jaded babysitter observing the mess she wouldn't need to clean up because that wasn't her job. Arms akimbo, hip cocked to one side, eyebrows raised, the warrior looked like she could just as easily have wielded a ladle or a plow as a sword, but there was that steely glint in her eye that warned of death for those who dares say so. 

"Hunter. Excellent. I have a task for you." Van Ark turned to her with something approximating a friendly smile. She didn't buy it for a second, of course, but she remained silent as he explained there was a specimen of the restless dead that had been seen on the battlefield that needed to be captured and contained. When he mentioned that it was one that had been removed from the camp itself and thrown into the communal burial pit opposite the field from Troy, the Hunter straightened slightly. Her interest was caught. 

"Can you do it?" Van Ark asked this question as if he honestly doubted her capability. Janine snorted derisively. 

"Can I do it? Why did you call me if you thought I couldn't?" 

Van Ark was silent, which the Hunter found extremely satisfying. Running a hand over the thick pinkish scar twisting across her face from temple to nose, she turned away, a wry smile creeping across her lips. An unusual specimen, he said. One that didn't move like the restless dead. One that ran away, rather than trying to attack. This was just what she'd been waiting for. Van Ark had made a mistake, and it would be the mistake that ended him. 

Rather than making for the battlefield, the Hunter wove through the tents like a weaver's shuttle, narrowly avoiding nervous soldiers and blinding cook fires on her way to the flapping blue pennant of Sara Achilles. 

* * *

The cot creaked softly under her as Sara lowered herself with a sigh, letting it take her weight. Allowing it to support her. Allowing it to bear the burden she no longer could. Five was alive, and it wasn't because Sara had done what needed doing. It was in spite of Sara doing what she had thought was right. But she'd been wrong. So, so wrong. 

In the darkness, Sara lifted her hands and looked at her trembling fingers, seeing as though by moonlight the ghost of dark blood coursing over her hands. The look of betrayal and fear and pain on Five's face. The point of her sword protruding like a helmet spike from the top of her best friend's head. She had done that, and she had done it thinking it was the right thing to do. 

Across the tent, a gleam of eyes betrayed the wakeful thoughts of Five, who lay sprawled and comfortable on top of the blankets. Sara could only whisper a prayer and hope that someone, somewhere, heard her. Someone who could answer that prayer. Someone with a beating heart, and a capacity to forgive. 

Five's eyes slid along the ceiling like glass marbles in an unmoving face, lighting not on Sara, but on a spot about a meter to her right. The warrior stared at the apparently empty darkness there, then looked at Sara, and nodded. Had Five heard? Had Five understood? Sara wasn't sure whether the possibility that Five _had_ both heard and understood one she wanted or was afraid of. 

The Great Achilles? Afraid? Preposterous! And yet...

"Achilles?" Someone stood at the door, outlined in golden firelight, clad in tarnished armor. The slight shine of a scar on the woman's face identified her even in the dark, and Sara stood with a sigh. 

"Janine. What do you want now?" She had had enough of Van Ark's cronies creeping around her camp, upsetting her soldiers, spitting in her soup...

"I need your help." 

That was _not_ what she'd been expecting. Sara paused, mind racing to catch up with this unexpected twist. "My help? With what? What would I possibly want to help you with?" Sara tried to put as much venom into the words as she could, but she couldn't honestly summon her usual level of vitriol. Her fury had been spent, and now she felt as empty as a lightning tree, burned out and ashy inside. 

"Van Ark wants to capture one of your folk that was brought back from the dead. I want him to die." 

In a moment, Five was up and standing at Sara's elbow, tense as a bowstring in clean clothes with a knife strapped to a tight-cinched belt. Janine couldn't have looked more shocked if Five had punched her on the nose. 

"Patroclus. I... thought you were dead. I heard you had died in battle with Hector." 

Five grimaced, but said nothing. It seemed even trying to speak at this point was a waste of time. The more important point was that of Van Ark's death. Something shifted in the darkness beyond the tent, and Five saw a flicker of something like a dark light. Confused, worried, Five pushed Janine aside, stepping out into the open for a clearer look. Gods disguised as mortals would glow in Five's vision. This person glowed, but not with a light like anything Five had seen. It was unnatural, heavy, almost sticky in a way light should never be. 

The person was moving wrong, too. Shuffling, lurching, swaying. Five realized what it was only seconds before it shambled into the firelight, and had precisely enough time to seize Janine's ax and heave it with every ounce of strength toward the undead thing. It would have been far more impressive if the blade had buried itself in the monster's skull, but of course Five didn't have a lot of practice with throwing axes. Instead, the handle thudded squelchily into the thing's face, and the monster staggered and fell, twitched, and lay still. 

An outcry went up as the other soldiers realized one of the undead had gotten past their guards, and some were already rushing toward the guard posts with naked swords in hand to see if any had been lost to the bite of the restless dead. 

Janine looked at the now motionless corpse, then at Five. "That was... surprisingly effective." 

Five smirked, then turned toward Sara. The warrior jerked a thumb at Janine, then nodded firmly. Whatever else they did here, they should help Janine kill Van Ark. The message could be delivered while he bled to death. No one who raised the dead against their will was someone who deserved to keep on living. 

Sara still hesitated a moment, but with a sigh, she glanced at Janine. "Alright. We'll help you. But only because Five likes you." 

Five grinned. That was the sort of leverage one could get used to. That one _had_ gotten used to. There were things to take care of before getting started. Armor, for one. And a sword. And some clay in which to carve the message that would be Van Ark's last in this world. 


	8. From the Ashes

"What are you doing in here? This is an outrage! Intruding on my-" Van Ark was clad in nothing but his loincloth and the wrist knives that marked him as either clever or cowardly. Perhaps both. Flying out of his blankets like a scalded cat, the man abandoned any pretense at surprise as soon as he'd seen the torch in Janine's hand. Sara's eyes glittered like Greek Fire in the torchlight, a naked blade in her hand with its sharp point mere inches from Van Ark's toned belly. 

"Oh, please call for your guards. Scream for help. Run away, like the coward you are. It'll be a pleasure to hunt you down in the dark." 

Five listened to Sara's growl with a vague feeling of wonder. Yes, Sara hated Van Ark's guts, but she had always been careful not to act on that hatred, because she was responsible for a whole cohort, and if she slipped up, if she made the powerful ones mad, if she left even a tiny opening, it wouldn't just be her that suffered. So she had kept her distance. Now, though... now that Five had determined to kill Van Ark with the Hunter's help, there was nothing standing in her way. There was nothing here to slow her down. Van Ark was going to die. 

The man could see death waiting for him in the eyes of three warriors and a blazing torch, and for a long moment, he held very still. Five thought he was considering his escape options, but then Van Ark tipped his head back and laughed. It was no nervous titter, either. It was a full-bellied, raucous laugh. He genuinely thought this was very funny, even though he was standing there in his undies in front of three armored soldiers. 

"Van Ark, you've brought madness and death to our camp, and what's worse, you brought dark magic. You've invited the wrath of the gods, and now you'll have to deal with the wrath of your men. This is the end." The Hunter's voice was clear and hard, cutting through his laugh like a sharp knife through wet leather. Silence rang in the tent like the jaws of a beast had fastened around Van Ark's laughter, though the mad smile was still on his pouchy, unshaven face. 

"You think you can kill me? You think the three of you can do me in? That's a laugh. Go back to your beds like the children you are, and let real men run this war." 

Five took a step forward, and neither of the others made any move to leave. Jaw clenched, Five thrust a piece of paper at Van Ark, who barely glanced at the message before brushing it aside. 

_The war must end._  
The restless dead must be given back to the god of the dead.  
Your black magic must stop.

His eyes were fixed on Five's face, which bore neither bruise nor shadow from repeated deaths over the last several days. For a moment, the warrior felt a mild thrill run along nerves that ought to have been numb to fear or surprise at this point. It was a chill, though, looking into eyes that were as flat and as grey as stone dug up from the earth. Just as grey and just as dead. 

"You're the one that died. You're Pentas Patroclus." A wild light entered those dead, grey eyes, and all his teeth flashed in a predatory smile as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. "You're like me, aren't you?" 

Those words made Five's stomach roll, the sour taste of acid and the spaces in the stew they had for dinner mixing in the back of a throat too raw even for words, let alone vomit. Swallowing heavily, Five took a step back - or tried to. Van Ark's hand fastened like bronze bands about Five's arm, forcing the warrior to stay close as he leaned in, grinning. "You're the one she saw running away from the pit earlier. The one that doesn't move like the undead, but was definitely dead when we through you in the pit to rot." 

It wasn't a plan or even really a thought. It was just a reaction. Five jerked forward, closer than Van Ark was prepared for, and as the man tried to step back and regain control of the situation, Five's heel slammed into the arch of his foot to the satisfying crunch of small bones. He toppled with a shout of pain and anger, his fingers snagging in Five's armor at the last second and yanking the warrior down on top of him. 

Whatever else Van Ark might have been, he was no slouch in a tussle. Even in pain and caught off-guard, he nearly got the upper hand as Five tried to pin him to the floor. Van Ark's hand scrabbled at the warrior's belt, nearly catching the hilt of a blade before Five caught his wrist and twisted hard, digging nails into the space between the tendons of his forearm until blood welled on his hairy skin. 

A throwing ax whistled past Five's ear, leaving a deep gash in the top of Van Ark's shoulder as he jerked to one side, trying to throw Five between himself and the weapon. If he hadn't moved, the ax would have lodged itself in his head. Spitting with pain now, he wrapped both legs around Five's waist and dragged the warrior to the ground, wrapping a brawny arm about the warrior's thrashing body to form an imperfect human shield. 

"If you try again, I'll end this one," he snarled hoarsely. "Keep your distance." 

Five's head was swimming, nose clogged with the thick musky scent of Van Ark's unwashed body. That was enough to bring up the vomit that had nearly escaped earlier, but Five wasn't new to this song and dance. A half-second later, Van Ark shoved Five away with a squawk of disgust, trying to wipe vomit off his chest.

Sara's sword plunged past Five as the warrior fell out of the way, and punched through Van Ark's throat with a squelching, gurgling sound Five never wanted to hear again. But there were other sounds, too. Shouts and curses, the clash of weapons and rattle of armor, and in the distance, the winding of one of the bone horns carried by the guards to warn of an attack. 

Five staggered upright, woozy but unwilling to let the others face this new threat alone. None of them were looking at Van Ark. It was over. The man was dead. They needed to find out what was happening, gather themselves, and help lead the others to victory, or at least in an effective retreat down the coast. Something. 

Then the point of a sword blossomed from Sara's chest like the first shoot of a bronze plant at the warm touch of spring. The world ground to a halt around Five as the facts slammed into an unyielding wall. There was no way this was real. This couldn't be real. Sara Achilles was the greatest warrior of Greece. Leader of the Achaeans. Terror of the Trojans. This couldn't be how things actually happened. This was some sort of twisted retelling. It had to be. 

But Five watched as Sara's blood spattered the rug, as she coughed and jerked in the dying throes of a dropped puppet, as her eyes rolled back and her body keeled stiffly forward. And there was Van Ark, throat torn and bloody, teeth bared in a savage grin. The dark aura of the undead flared around him like a black sunburst, sticky taint on the torchlight.

"Didn't I tell you that I'm like you?" he spat, blood slicking over his chin like beer onto the shirt of a sloppy drunk. "I can't be killed. I can'd die. I will never-"

Janine's torch smashed into his face, knocking him flat and blinding him. The Hunter's voice was as flat and hard as bronze. "Knock the tent down, Five. This scum will burn." From Van Ark's scream of protest, that was something that might kill even him. Five obeyed, giving the central pole a shove and springing for the entrance as the canvas fell with a soft woosh. Janine was already grabbing the nearest brazier with her bare hands, throwing the oil and hot coals onto the thrashing canvas where Van Ark was trying to escape. 

"Five, watch to make sure he doesn't come out of there, alive or dead. If he does, cut him into tiny pieces." 

Janine was already turning away as she delivered the order, and didn't see Five nod. She didn't need to see Five agree. Van Ark had killed her best friend. Achilles' wrath had been enough to shake the walls and gates of Troy and send their army into hiding. 

The wrath of Five would shake the foundations of Olympus itself. 

The tent's thrashing slowly jerked to a halt, but the fire around where the entrance of the tent would have been took on a darker color, the flames burning blue and purple and even black. 

"Five, we need to retreat." The Hunter's voice drove through the madness like a wedge. "The Trojans are coming, they'll be here any second. We need to fall back and regroup." 

Five glanced at her, then at the tent again. Something was stirring under the flames. 

"We have to go, Five. NOW." Janine's hand about the warrior's arm felt too much like an attack. Five tensed and drew, the blade flashing in the firelight. A figure rose from the flames, empty-eyed and burning as merrily as a torch. 

Sara's skin was beginning to blacken and crisp, her armor scorched and sooty. 

No. 

No no no no no. 

Five's heart seized. Five's sword shook. Five's mind couldn't comprehend this horror. Sara was a friend. More than a friend. Sara was... was everything. Sara couldn't be one of them. But the aura was dark, shining about her outline as if she were throwing a shadow about her instead of the light of the flames that ate at her body. 

No. Not Sara. 

"Five, MOVE!" Janine gave the paralyzed soldier a shove and started to run. Sara let out a rattling, cracking groan and followed, still impaled by her own sword. This wasn't the way things were supposed to work. This wasn't how the war was supposed to end. They were supposed to live. _Sara_ was supposed to live. 

But here they were, running for their lives after the broken and fleeing soldiers, running from fire and enemies and the restless dead that wore the face of one they loved most. Janine continued to push Five along, and though she never sounded frightened, there was something of an edge to her tone. An edge that no one could blame her for, especially when figures in the red Trojan uniform came bursting over the rise and rushed down on them from above. Some of the Greek soldiers turned and faced the enemy, but many just ran faster, defying the Hunter's shouted orders to turn and form ranks. 

In the end, there were only a dozen that stood with Five and Janine, and of those, only six were carrying shields. They held together as the Trojans sprinted down at them, roaring battle cries. The lines were less than ten meters apart when the man in the red plumed helmet threw up his sword in a signal to halt. 

"Wait! These aren't the cursed dead!" 

The Trojans stumbled to a halt, confused by the order, and the Greeks traded looks, waiting for the trap to spring when they were stupid enough to lower swords and shields - which they weren't. Who did these idiots think they were? 

"Sara Achilles? Is Sara Achilles here? I thought she'd be among the rear guard." 

Five stiffened. That was a familiar voice. That was a voice the warrior could not have mistaken for anyone else. That was Simon Hector. Slowly, lowering sword and dagger with trembling hands, Five stepped forward, meeting Simon face to face only a few days after he had delivered the killing blow. Simon's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he stared at the warrior he'd killed on the battlefield - very traumatically, as he recalled it. But there stood Five, apparently unmarked and hale, healthy as anyone in an army deployed for 10 years could be. 

"Five... what... what are you doing here? Am I dead? Did I die?" He looked at the soldier next to him, who patted herself down to check for injuries, then shrugged. Not dead as far as she could tell. 

Five made a negative gesture. No. Not dead. But... but communicating without words was hard, and for a moment Five just stood there, uncertain of how to explain the resurrection and the message and the gods and the war and the thing with Van Ark. But there wasn't time. As the two tiny groups of soldiers stared at one another, something else came over the hill. 

The restless dead. 

And there in the front, sightless eyes half closed and jaw slack, was Sara Achilles. 

Five felt frozen, ice for blood, stomach full of stones, rooted to the ground. Sara was coming. Sara was there. And according to Athena, Sara and all her shuffling cohort needed to die. They had earned rest. And... and Five couldn't do it. 

Simon turned, spotted the oncoming undead, and raised his sword. "Will you fight with me, Five? One more time?" He flashed a smile over his shoulder, and with a second's hesitation, Five shakily took up a position at his side. 

All was confusion after that. Red beside blue, Trojan defending Greek, Greek shields protecting Trojan flanks. The only enemy was the horde or restless dead, broken from their enclosure through force of numbers and the death of the master that had kept them calm. Now the feast of living flesh was far too appealing to be resisted, and only removing or destroying the head of each shambling corpse could stop them. 

Five guarded Simon's flank, trying not to look into their faces. The faces of friends. Allies. Acquaintances from around the cook fire. These were people that ought to have died with honor, or else gone home. This was not the end any of them had earned. Five's arm grew heavy with repeated swings, lopping off heads and arms wherever the warrior's sword could reach. Some of them dodged, weirdly coordinated for corpses, and that made it all the harder to muster the courage to end them. They acted more like they were still alive. 

And Sara. 

Five's heart pounded, drowning out the sound of battle. Sara was there, surviving in spite of Simon's attempts to set her to rest. She seemed to be trying to get to Five, while Five was doing everything in the power of a well-trained warrior to keep clear of the undead. 

But at last, it ended. It couldn't go on forever. A clammy hand closed around Five's arm. Sara was there, staring with filmy grey eyes. Dead, Five thought. Dead dead dead dead she's already dead. But the sword wavered and didn't strike. The boots seemed heavy, or glued to the ground. Nothing could bring this silent, determined soldier to strike against one who had been the center of all life for the last ten years. 

"I'm... I'm sorry," Five whispered, eyes stinging with tears that wouldn't come. 

Simon did it; what Five couldn't. The head fell away, the hand spasmed open, the body crumbled. It was over. Simon rallied their little group. "Back to the city. We'll be safe inside the walls until we can make a new plan." 

"No. You can go back. We have to stay here." There was Janine. She looked battered, but still alive. "We owe you for turning back to help us... but don't think this makes us friends." 

Simon swallowed, then looked at Five. "We were... once." 

"That's in the past." The Hunter's tone was firm.

For a long moment, silence reigned between the two groups as they started to sidle apart. "It doesn't have to be. I'll talk to Paris. Just... let's end this." Simon was uncharacteristically serious as he looked from Janine to Five and back. "I don't want to kill any more friends. Not even by the king's order." 

Janine hesitated, then sighed, as if they were all guilty of breaking the rules of engagement, and she was severely disappointed in the lot of them. "Well... then let's see what we can do about ending this war." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, that's IT. I'm done. I won't write any more. This was supposed to be a one-shot. IT IS NOT. THIS IS NOT A ONE-SHOT. 
> 
> But there you go. I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
